


Someday

by eponinethenardiers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, genuinely cannot tell if this is more fluff or angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 10:14:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5739793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eponinethenardiers/pseuds/eponinethenardiers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Ginny's first real encounter after the war. Just a short little drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someday

The first time they speak to each other, it’s an accident.

 

They’d “talked” to each other, of course, brief hellos and good mornings and ‘pass the salt’ at dinner, but it wasn’t the same. He always _wanted_ to say something, every time they hesitantly brushed past each other in the kitchen or gave each other tight-lipped smiles in the halls, but what was he supposed to say? ‘Sorry your brother died because of me, want to go out sometime’? Would she even want to be with him anymore? Is he even ready for a relationship after the past year? Every time their eyes locked and his mouth opened, questions flooded his mind and seemed to hold his tongue in place.

 

But suddenly it was 1:30 in the morning, three weeks since the Battle, and once again, Harry couldn’t sleep.

 

He couldn’t even fully remember what the nightmare had been this time. There was so much lurking in his mind, none of it could ever be clear. Just flashes of dead body after dead body, green lights and red lights and screams weaving their way through every level of his subconscious. Day and night. His mind was lost in itself as he silently crept down the stairs.

 

In his half-awake state he hardly registered that the kitchen lights were already on until he saw her sitting at the table, a large green mug cradled between her hands. She looked terrible. The dark purple circles under her eyes stood stark against her pale, ghostly face, devoid of its usual freckles. Her hair was limp and greasy, obviously unkempt from the entire past year. By now it nearly hung to her waist, the ends frayed and knotted, the opposite of the sleek and healthy hair she sported before the war. She had always been petite, but now she somehow seemed smaller, hunched over her knees like she’s trying to curl herself into a protective ball. She is a ghost of the girl he grew up with, and it would terrify him if he didn’t know he probably looked the same to her.

 

Her eyes flicked over to Harry as he slowly approached the table, but she didn’t move. She fixed her gaze on the chair across from her, as though giving him permission.

 

“You couldn’t sleep either?” she croaked as he sat down. He nodded. “Seems like no one ever sleeps in this house nowadays.”

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks feebly. She raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“Do _you_?”

 

Point taken.

 

Harry played absentmindedly with his fingernails as Ginny went back to sipping slowly at her tea. He couldn’t stop fidgeting, couldn’t stop himself glancing up at her every three seconds. Why was she so calm? Every time she enters the room his heart seems to stop, but she just seems bored.

 

It must only be five minutes before she speaks again, but it feels like five years.

 

“Go on then, say something. You look like you’re about to burst out of your skin.”

 

He has so much to say. He has so much to ask. Does she blame him for Fred’s death? What has she been through the past year? What could he do to make any of her pain lessen?

 

Instead what comes out is, “Do you think it’ll ever go back to normal?”

 

She snorted, a morbid smile playing at the edges of her lips as she stared down into her mug. “What even is normal for us? Peace is an entirely new concept.”

 

Her eyes finally raised, locking with his. She looked younger, softer. Gentler.

 

“The world has scars,” she quietly. “Scars need time to heal. And they will. Maybe not today, maybe not for weeks or months or years, but they will heal. Then, maybe, yeah. Maybe some things can go back to the way they were.”

 

Her gaze held steady with his and he realized both of them were talking about something entirely different.

 

“Someday,” he repeated, nodding softly.

 

She lapsed into silence again, red-rimmed eyes continually falling to the mug between her hands. He knew the war had affected her, that it had aged them all, but normally she didn’t show it. She walked around with her head held high and a quick joke on her lips, as if the past year had been a blip on her radar. She was Ginny Weasley. She was invincible. Until now, when the remnants of her nightmares made her too tired to keep up appearances. Her armour could never be permanent, as hard as she may try.

 

“It wasn’t your fault,” she suddenly said, voice even thicker, as though her throat was straining with the very effort of the words. “Colin. Lavender. Tonks. Remus. F-,” her voice broke and she squeezed her eyes shut, like she was trying to fight the pain away herself. “Fred. None of it was your fault. We all chose to be there. This was our war as much as it was yours.”

 

She was right. He knew she was right. It was what he had been trying to tell himself for weeks. Yet hearing from her felt a hundred times more real.

 

“You can’t go blaming yourself forever,” she mumbled, eyes unfocused as she stared into nothingness. “Sometimes there’s nothing you can do.”

 

“Are you saying that to me or to yourself?”

 

Her lips twitched ever so slightly, as if she had nearly smiled.

 

“I don’t know anymore.”

* * *

It’s nearly four when she finally nods off, curled in on herself in her chair, cheek pressed against her knees. A curtain of hair covered the right side of her face, leaving only peeks of the restful face beneath. For once she looked at peace, not as if she had aged five years in one. Just the sight of her made something warm glow in Harry’s chest.

 

He tried as hard as he could not to wake her as he scooped her into his arms, even though he knew she slept like the dead. Whispering a quick spell to shut off the lights, he gently carried her up the stairs and into her room, unable to tear his eyes away from her face. He kept himself from placing a kiss on her forehead as he lay her down on top of her covers. No, they weren’t there yet. But someday.


End file.
